


Ink-Drawn Feathers

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Thats a lot of Castiels but bare with me), Accidental Love Confessions, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because What's Better Than Your Ship Accidentally Becoming Canon?, Heavy Angst, Human Castiel, Hunter Castiel, Hunters & Hunting, Implied/Referenced Sex, Injured Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, Sad Castiel, Shirtless Castiel, Some Humor, Tattooed Castiel, Worried Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Once that’s off along with his blazer, Dean moves onto Cas’s button-down. It’s funny, he thinks, last time he bothered with those same buttons was when Cas had his first big date with Nora—the last time Cas was human.But unlike that night in Dean’s car, Cas won’t even look at him. He keeps his head angled on his bed as Dean slides the last article of clothing off him, and Dean thinks maybe he’s just shy, but then.Then, Dean sees it.





	Ink-Drawn Feathers

“Cas, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“I… I’m okay,” Cas says gruffly. Considering a Djinn’s been drinking his blood almost all day, physically, he actually does look okay; aside from hugging one of the many support beams in the old, abandoned warehouse the same way eighth grader’s clammy hand hugs their partner’s at their first school dance.

But there’s obvious pain written on his face, with the wrinkles on his forehead, the tautness in his eyebrows, and the way his mouth’s parted just enough to form small rifts in the valley of his lips from the even breaths going back in. It doesn’t help that the place has long since been refurbished, painted over with a thick coat of rust and carpeted by shards of glass thin enough to fit between the cul de sacs of someone’s toes.

For Dean, with his large logger boots, they just crunch beneath the soles of his shoes in a thousand tinier pieces when he rushes forward. But when Cas was thrown by the Djinn and into the debris before Dean could gank that Daba Dee Daba Bitch, he had nowhere else to fall but into a pool of sharp debris. “What’s—?”

“No,” Cas grunts, jerking away from Dean’s outstretched hand.

“Cas, I’m sure I’ve seen worse—hell, I’m sure I’ve _had_ worse,” says Dean. “That’s how I know that you’re only staying slumped against this thing to stop the blood flow.  Now let me see.”

Dean ignores Cas’s sigh in favor of his arm. He peels Cas’s shoulder back from the beam like a spatula supporting the underside of a slightly raw and sticky pancake. Some batter comes dribbling out, but, “That’s not too bad,” he says, breathing a small sigh of relief despite himself. “Few stitches and it’ll be good as new—for the cut and the trenchcoat.”

“Dean, that’s not…” Cas says, shaking his head, “I—”

“Sam! A little help over here!” Dean yells before turning back to Cas, patting his uninjured bicep, “It’ll be alright, Cas, promise. Do you trust me?”

Cas bites his lip, but nods slowly, eyes shining back at Dean like a lighthouse’s reflection across the ocean.

“Alright. Let’s get you outta here.”

 

 

Dean heads back into Cas’s room with the necessary tools and sets them on the other man’s nightstand. Cas managed to remove his trenchcoat, but is still wearing his blazer with the makeshift gauze pad around his arm—which, for the Winchesters, is a strip of cotton sacrificed from Dean’s flannel. “Alright, let’s get to work.” Cas winces a little as he starts to peel off the flannel. Dean jumps forward. “Right, um, here, I’ll—”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas says, wincing again like Dean’s fingers are the fire to his ice, “I’ve— _ah­­_ —I’ve got it.”

“It’s no trouble, man.”

“As it is for me. I’m fine.”

“Cas, just…” Dean sighs, hovering his hands just over Cas’s bicep. “Let me help, okay?” They’re both stubborn sons of bitches when it comes to accepting help, but they also know they are each other’s weakness, for better or for worse, so Cas doesn’t have to fight so hard against the nod that breaks their gaze. “Alright,” Dean repeats, slowly but carefully slipping his long, chafed fingers beneath the tightly wound fabric.

Once that’s off along with his blazer, Dean moves onto Cas’s button-down. It’s funny, he thinks, last time he bothered with those same buttons was when Cas had his first big date with Nora—the last time Cas was human.

But unlike that night in Dean’s car, Cas won’t even look at him. He keeps his head angled on his bed as Dean slides the last article of clothing off him, and Dean thinks maybe he’s just shy, but then.

Then, Dean sees it.

Peeking out from Cas’s tan shoulder is a large black feather, the feather and its shadow curving and stopping just over Cas’s elbow, matching the partner feather next to it. Unlike real feathers that turn up randomly from large birds, these are heavily concentrated in detail. Not one vane within the quills is missing or overlapping the ones next to it, and each is highlighted in black ink until it reaches the tip. More feathers rest on Cas’s shoulders and consume about half of his back, and that’s when Dean realizes they’re part of a bigger picture.

Wings. Tattooed wings, but wings nonetheless.

Of course, now, with the wound running across his right bicep, the span of them may not be as wide-reaching when the pattern’s interrupted. And Dean’s not sure how ink takes stitches, if it even does at all, which is why Cas must’ve been so upset earlier.  

“Wow,” Dean breathes, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s gliding his fingers down Cas’s shoulder, careful not to touch Cas’s wound. “Sorry,” he says, pulling back like he’s been scorched by his own fingers.

To his surprise, Cas looks up at him with a softer expression and a softer hold on his shoulders. He turns on his side so Dean can get a better view of the piece. “It’s okay. You can touch it.”

Dean does just that, fingers moving across the slightly raised skin, journeying over each feather until he reaches the base of the right wing. “Cas, buddy, this is… gorgeous,” Dean settles for, at a loss for words. He looks back up in time to catch the smile tugging Cas’s lips—the _only_ part of Cas that should be unraveling.

“Thank you,” he says. Then, after a moment, he gestures next to Dean. “As we were.”

Dean follows Cas’s gaze to the sewing instruments and shakes his head. “Right,” he laughs tersely as he grabs the necessary supplies, but not before stealing another glance at the art again.

 

 

“Ow.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” says Dean sheepishly, turning away to set the Jack Daniels down with a _clunk_ he’s ever so used to hearing, “the alcohol stings a little. That’s why people drink it more often than use it as an antiseptic.” Dean threads in the first stitch, careful not to pull in too much skin and misalign the ink, and asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cas’s eyes are still on the plush comforter beneath him when he responds, “Do you know what I dreamt? When the Djinn attacked me?”

Dean tenses with his instruments. “What?”

“I dreamt of us,” Cas answers. “You, me, Sam, and that case we worked in Oklahoma City.”

Dean pauses his sewing “You mean, back, like, five years ago? When you said you wanted to be a hunter?”

Cas nods. “I dreamt of that case because it was the last time I remember flying. When I was an angel. When I was at what was my lowest, but still found my purpose in Ludwig van Beethoven.” He pauses to laugh a little, but it’s not long until his smile dissipates again and he’s turning his gaze back to his comforter. “Back when I _had_ one. I fight for you and Sam and humanity as we know it, but I’ll never be what I once was. I’ll never hold a candle to the person you initially called your friend.”

“That wasn’t a dream, Cas.”

Cas looks up. “What?”

“Don’t you get it, man? We like you because you’re you, not because you’re Paul Bettany—I’m _definitely_ not Paul Bettany, and you still like me,” Dean says. “Look, I fell in love with you because of everything that makes you _human._ You think I like those winged dickbags you used to call family? I would rather use every extraterrestrial ballsack they have as a punching bag than ever have to—”

“Dean.”

“What?” Dean gripes, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s true!”

“Dean…”

Dean blinks a few times, trying to read Cas’s eyes again. Then realizes what he said: “…Oh.”

“I mean, I’ve always assumed,” Cas says, lips curving into a small smile again, “after I told you in Ramiel’s a couple years ago. I’d known before that, but I could tell in that moment. The way you looked at me.”

Dean laughs nervously, “Well, you know what they say, looks can kill.”

“You know, you have to give yourself a break too, Dean.”

“What’re you—?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Cas says, leaving no room for Dean’s wasted breath. “I know you, Dean. I know you blame yourself for more than the Djinn attack—it’s _everything_ that happens to me. But you can’t punish yourself for it, just like I can’t punish myself for not being more careful, or too careless. As your brother once said, sometimes bad things just happen.”

Dean turns his head at that. “Sam hasn’t said that since…”

“The Bloody Mary case,” Cas finishes, smiling just a fraction wider. “I’ve been watching you two for a long time, Dean. Especially you. I’ve always found you to be a fascinating creature.”

“Fascinating in a good way, I hope?”

Cas huffs a laugh. “Fascinating in a good way,” he confirms. “ _Although…”_

Dean scoffs, “You’re lucky I can’t push you into your bed.”

“I’m also lucky you’re one of the best self-taught surgeons in the world.”

Dean wouldn’t think much of the compliment. In fact, he might even blush on a good day, but then Cas is raising his eyebrows, so he has to ask: “Meaning?”

“ _Meaning_ ,” Cas emphasizes, reaching out with his other hand to wrap it around Dean’s belt buckle, “once you’re done fixing me up, you can get a full view of my tattoo.”

Dean’s mouth drops instantly, but doesn’t waste any time threading the needle back into Cas’s bicep.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, Paul Bettany. He played an angel in the movie, Legion.  
> And that angel was none other than the archangel, Michael.
> 
> You're welcome.
> 
> Also, Cas's tattoo was inspired by this photograph: http://nextluxury.com/wp-content/uploads/full-wings-tattoo-on-back-for-men.jpg


End file.
